


awkward.

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkwardness, Domestic, First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 01:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15401595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Zevran is new to camp. It is... strange.





	awkward.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FoundlingMother](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoundlingMother/gifts).



This… is awkward. Yes, Zevran can see this: it is awkward.

  
Mahariel, who is mostly silent, but deeply sarcastic when he opens his mouth, is shifting the pan over the fire, stewing pieces of rabbit. It smells incredible, neatly seasoned with herbs and spices the man seems to collect and keep to hand, and yet–

  
Mahariel is the only one in camp looking at the fire. Everybody else, one way or another, is looking at Zevran. The young man, Alistair, is looking at him unerringly, and he turns away so shyly when Zevran tries to catch his eye; the witch, Morrigan, does not flinch at all; the Qunari, he looks at Zevran like he does not know what he is; and the sister–

  
Zevran gets the feeling she is unused to elves. He is used to being taken apart by the gazes that land upon him, but he prefers it as a handsome man, not as… Elf.

 

“Dog,” Zevran says. “Come here.” The dog perks up, running over, and Zevran gently pats its head, ensuring he keeps his hands away from the animal’s slobbering mouth. Dogs, ordinarily, he is not fond of, but this dog, is warm, is friendly. “You are very handsome, no?”

  
The dog barks. Zevran laughs.  
Alistair is watching him again, and Zevran says, “You too.” Alistair leans back in his seat, evidently taken aback by this, and Zevran grins, showing his teeth. “What, you do not think so?”

  
“I, uh– I don’t really think about it.”

  
“No? I think about it.” A flush of pink comes heavy to the prince’s cheeks, and Zevran glances around the encampment. “You sure you are not all picked for your beauty?”

  
“I am sure,” the Qunari says, as the sister chuckles, and as the witch crosses her arms tight over her chest.

  
“Well,” Zevran murmurs. “I know how I was picked, at least.” Morrigan clucks her tongue.

  
“Let’s not make it a competition,” Mahariel says dryly, beginning to set stew into bowls, with some flat bread he had made - made bread! In the field! Like it is easy! “You are all beautiful in your own ways.”

  
“Not me,” says Sten.

  
“Oh, especially you, Sten.” Zevran laughs - so does Alistair, and so does Leliana. Sten scowls, and he puts out his hands demandingly, taking the first bowl of dinner. So cute - they are all so– So cute!

  
The dog exhales against Zevran’s belly, and Zevran shudders, tapping the animal’s flank. “Off you go,” he says, and the dog flops against his feet. Ah. Perhaps he has chosen his allies… Poorly. Alistair, at least, does not smell so.

  
Ah well. Is a learning experience.


End file.
